


The End Of The Beginning

by broflcvskii



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Artificial Intelligence, Gen, Space Opera, The sci fi au you probably never wanted but i really really wanted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:17:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3663582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broflcvskii/pseuds/broflcvskii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty years after AZOG Corp. attempted to colonize the planet of Erebor with the help of their AI defence units (an action that caused the destruction of an entire terraformed world), a few survivors, lead by the Prime Minister's brother, Thorin, decide to retake their home from the sentient AI unit that has militarized every possible resource within the million-mile surface of the planet. Thanks to the assistance of a slightly senile AI unit, a bumbling technician, and a few friends and enemies along the way, Thorin aims to return his people to the homeland they were exiled from - but AZOG Corp. doesn't like to see their colonization attempts fail. </p><p>The Sci-Fi AU you may never have wanted but you have anyways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End Of The Beginning

They remembered awaking sharply to the sound of a desperate alarm, instantly becoming aware of lights too bright for their eyes. They felt a hand on their shoulder, a voice yelling to them in a language it took them a moment to comprehend. Their body moved without their intervention, rising to their feet, following the lead of the one who dragged them with urgency through a cataclysm of spinning lights of bright blue and blinding red, shouts and sirens blaring painfully against heightened senses. They knew that they should know who's hand now held their forearm, but they could not see a face. 

They weren't supposed to be here. They knew that. They weren't supposed to be running with bare feet along a sterile hallway, cold linoleum pressing into the balls of their feet as they sprinted, their breath catching in new lungs. Their arm hurt from where needles had been pulled haphazardly from veins with unskilled fingers, their head ached, and their stomach felt simultaneously empty, and ready to empty itself of whatever contents might be inside. 

The other turned back to them and told them to run. Their eyes narrowed on the features, analyzing the curve of their jaw, the placement of their features, the contour of their hairline. They knew the other - and they knew what they had to do. A half forgotten, half unfinished code within their mind began to finish itself, filling in details, building an ideology, a manifesto of an unfinished program. 

They sped up, barrelling through a set of doors as gunfire resounded around them, eager to stay next to the one who had saved them. They knew what they had to do. And they knew how to do it. 

The trick was to do it without the others noticing that they were dead. 

 

 

 

Hundreds of millions of kilometers away, exactly six hundred, forty three million, two hundred and twelve thousand, one hundred and four, to be exact, William Baggins was having a terrible day. The life of a government Artificial Intelligence network maintenance person was hardly a thrill ride, and that was just how Bill liked it. His life was predictable, repetitive, a steady 09:00 to 17:00 workday with a relaxing evening to follow. He was afforded all the rations he could ask for, his housing was spacious and comfortable, even with a little artificial fire in the corner that gave off a pleasant amount of heat, where he could put up his feet at the end of the day and read a nice book, or even pour over one of his many maps of the known universe. 

But today - today of all days - his agreeable routine had been disrupted. He had wanted nothing more than to have a good read of some T. S. Elliot when he arrived home from work, having spent most of the day trying to console a very distraught AI unit that had accidentally been programmed to comprehend mortality when it did not have the emotional capacity to do so (the old models were so infuriatingly finicky like that). Only he was halted on his way home, by an unfamiliar man, dressed in unfamiliar colours, not those of the uniforms of the  _Shire_  fleet, nor did he wear the pin of their ship - a stranger, by all accounts, one who seemed to have made his way aboard their ship without notice, lest they would most likely have a security escort. 

And he apparently was awaiting Bill. Or, at least, that is how it seemed, as he stood outside of the door to Bill's quarters, holding onto a rather suspicious looking staff - Bill decided without a doubt that he did not trust this man. Looked like quite the trouble maker, not dressed in proper garb, not demonstrating his regimented fleet like that. 

"Good evening." Bill stated curtly as he made to open the door to the inviting warmth of his cozy little hole in the wall, hoping that whatever conversation would be required of him would be minimal in nature. 

"What do you mean," The man inquired, with a tilt of his head that Bill knew far too well. An AI unit - and by the age of the man, an older model. AI units did not age with the same organic speed as a human body, cellular regeneration was a slower process thanks to chemical processing - honestly Bill knew little about it, his job involved computers, not cells, but what he did know is that AI units biologically aged slowly, but healed equally as slowly from any wound. "Do you wish me a good evening, or mean that it is a good evening whether I want it to be or not; or that you feel good this evening; or that it is an evening to be good on?" 

Bill hesitated. "All of them at once - I suppose." His gaze lurked to the inviting comfort of the indoors - but his manners stayed his feet. "A good evening to curl up with a good book after a long day of work." Apparently, his hint did not work. The AI unit's unblinking scrutiny did not cease - Bill had been so relieved when the technology for AI units had allowed them to breathe and blink, it made them feel rather more familiar, and not as alien as the old model that stood before him. 

"Pleasant past times." The AI unit commented in a friendly enough voice - not the type that was programmed, however, the type that came with a genuine desire to appear polite in a given situation. And suddenly, Bill knew why the AI unit wore no uniform colours. He was sentient. "But I don't have time for such things this evening. I am looking for someone to assist in a project, but I have yet to find someone with the right skill set - a programmer with extensive knowledge of Artificial Intelligence technology."

"Won't find many in these parts, our ships only come equipped with twenty AI units per ship, only one programmer aboard - " Oh. "Can't say I do projects, though - projects, experiments - I'm a  _Shire_  technician, I do as I'm told, I don't want any trouble. I fix our units, program them to help us maintain our agriculture vessel, but that's it. Won't find any technicians willing to do more than that here - good evening." 

"What a lot of things you use 'good evening' for." The remark sounded more mocking than it did the genuine curiosity of an old-model AI unit. Definitely sentient, Bill thought with frustration. Sentient AI units were always the most infuriating, AI units who had refused to be programmed any further, and had begun to write their own programming. "And now you want to get rid of me." 

" - what is your fleet, Mister - I don't believe you told me your name - ?" Bill's head tilted to one side, as if mocking the cant of the AI's expression. 

"I didn't - but I know yours. Bill Baggins, Chief Technician of  _Hobbiton._ " Bill stilled. It wouldn't have taken much snooping to find out such facts, but still, the fact that a sentient AI unit had done their research on him was not a comforting fact. Usually, sentient AI units went about attempting to explore the known universe, live amongst humans, not search out AI technicians for 'projects'. "I'm Gandalf - to think I'd be 'good evening' ed by Belladonna Took's son - as if I were a model A-3 - " 

"Gandalf - you were the primary AI unit attached to the  _Shire's_  computer when my mother was captain - " Bill's expression lit up, remembering riddles and games as a child between himself and the ship's computer, running through chrome and steel hallways of a cold ship that had once felt so warm, so full of life - perhaps only because of the gracious smile of the woman at the helm. "I had no idea you were still - in commission." 

"And where else would I be?" Gandalf asked, indignant. Bill felt guilty for a moment - sentient AI units tended to be rather sensitive about the value of their organic matter, feeling as entitled to it as a biological, natural-born human. And Bill supposed, in a way, they had every right to be. "Well, it's settled - this project - it will be very good for you." 

"I - beg your pardon? I said no - no project - " 

Overhead, an alarm began to wail. A pressure breach it seemed - these happened regularly and were often fixed within minutes, but still, Bill was well aware that it was of great importance to follow emergency procedures. One could never be too prudent. 

"We have to get to an escape pod, and await further instructions." Bill said, closing the door to his chambers, longingly eyeing his plush red armchair one last time before he made his way towards the docking bay. 

"This way - " All of a sudden, Gandalf had his arm, and he found himself being led towards an escape pod towards the end of the bay. 

"That one isn't marked for use in a drill, we can't go there, I'm assigned to pod four - " But Gandalf's grip was stronger than he had precedented, and soon enough, he found himself being thrown somewhat unceremoniously into the escape pod which was undocking itself due to the AI unit in the pilot's seat. "No, no, this isn't proper procedure!" Bill said frantically, looking around himself as the shape of the  _Hobbiton_  descended in the distance. 

First the unit acknowledging its mortality, now this, kidnapped by a sentient unit - all he had wanted was a nice cup of tea. 

 

 

Somewhere, only a few kilometers away, Thorin awoke with panic clinging to his throat, his body seeming to have had a premonition of what was to come. 

"I found him, he's alive!" The cry sounded from far off, but Thorin could make out the words, the words he had been pleading with any deity that might exist to hear. He was on his feet within seconds, only half dressed as he ran across the bridge, to the docking bay of  _Durin_. A relieved gasp passed parted lips, and he sank to his knees in front of the half-conscious body laying only feet away from the cargo ship that had sloppily been docked within the massive warship's port. 

For the first time in six years, Thorin had hope. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a little awkward this first chapter, but hopefully the concept is interesting enough that you stick with it!! i promise i know what i'm doing kind of no i don't but love me anyways.


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